Haberdashery
by Daughter of Nature
Summary: I've called this Haberdashery because it's fun to say, and it's a collection of little bits and pieces, mostly drabbles for the Goldenlake prompts.
1. Beginning of a Friendship

Prompt: Food

WARNING: Contains minor Bloodhound spoilers.

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"What do you mean you lost him? He's well over six feet, how do you lose a cove like that?"

Clary crossed her arms and glared at the Watch Sergeant just as much as she dared. "It's not like I did it on purpose. He was just gone."

The Watch Sergeant was not amused. "I'm not signing you off until I've seen him in here. If you want to go home, you'd better hurry up and find him."

She could hear talking and laughter behind her from the other Dogs gathered in the kennel. She knew the sorts of things they'd be saying. _It's her. You know, the crooked one. Probably lost her temper and did the poor cove in herself._

She felt her face heating up, and clenched her fists. "It's not my fault the sarden barbarian can't even speak basic Common properly."

"He's learning," said an accented voice behind her. She turned and saw another Dog there, a Carthaki woman. "It's hard, learning a new language, and in a new place," she said. "He's getting much better at it." She fixed Clary with a look. "You could be a bit more patient with him."

Clary was shaking – whether it was from anger or having everyone angry at her when it _wasn't her fault _or embarrassment or exhaustion, she wasn't sure. "How'm I supposed to be sarden patient with him if the scut's not even there?" she snapped.

Anger flashed over the older Dog's face, but then she stopped and looked Clary over, and then grinned. "Don't get so worked up about it," she said. "Look, he was with me and Perard last week before he was partnered with you. Did you try looking for him at the food stalls?"

Clary blinked. "The food stalls?" she repeated, unsure that she'd heard her right.

The woman nodded. "He wandered off on us a couple of times, and we always found him at the food stalls. He always seems to have room for more food, we couldn't figure out how he gets it all in."

"Great," she muttered, and rolled her eyes. "Now I have to buy a sarden leash for my own partner because he can't control minor hunger cravings."

The other woman grinned at her, her white teeth flashing against her dark skin. "I'm Kebibi Ahuda, by the way. Come on, I'll help you find him."


	2. Poetry woes

Prompt: Colour

Jon threw down his quill and swore emphatically. This was exactly the sort of problem he would take to Alanna for advice, but he couldn't do that now. She usually complained about it or laughed at him, but she listened and helped him with his poems all the same. He knew that at least one of the gods must be laughing at him right now. Wasn't it bad enough that he couldn't ask his squire for help like he usually did? He thought he'd dealt with his frustration pretty well when he realised there wasn't a word that rhymed with purple, but now he was at his wits' end. He'd been through violet, amethyst, mulberry, lavender, lilac, indigo, maroon _and_ burgundy, and he was absolutely, positively, _completely _certain that there wasn't a single word in the entire gods-cursed Common language that rhymed with any of them.


	3. Too Much Delia

Prompt: Excess

Alanna rolled her eyes for the seventeenth time that evening. She was standing with her friends at the side of the ballroom, and they were all watching sulkily as Geoffrey danced with Delia.

"Look at his face," she said, in an effort to make conversation. "It's like he can't decide whether to be ecstatic or terrified."

"Look at her face," said Gary dreamily. "She's so serene."

"She's so beautiful," agreed Raoul.

Douglass and Sacherell sighed simultaneously.

"And her green dress brings out her eyes so well," added Jon. "They're so…well, green."

"Can't we talk about something else?" complained Alanna. "Like maybe the price of peas in Persopolis? Or the spot on the wall over there?"

"But she dances so gracefully," replied Jon. "It's like she's floating across the dance floor."

Alanna's eyes rolled again.

"She's coming this way!" hissed Gary.

Alanna struggled not to laugh as all of her friends stood up straighter. Delia smiled at them all as she got near, but it was Alanna that she walked straight up to.

"Good evening, Squire Alan," she said, her voice silky, and she extended her hand.

Alanna blushed bright red and reluctantly bent to kiss it.

Satisfied, Delia batted her eyelashes. "Am I to have the pleasure of a dance with you tonight?"

"Um, I don't think it will be much of a pleasure, my lady," Alanna tried. "I'm not a very good dancer." Delia waited, and Alanna bowed, resisting the urge to run and hide behind the wall hangings. "I'd be honoured, my lady."

Her attempt at a smile was probably more of a grimace as she danced with Delia. Not only could she see her friends glaring at her from the side of the room, but she was certain that Delia was sticking her chest out much further than what was necessary. She was chattering away, about how manly Gary's moustache looked and how tall Raoul had become and how striking Jon looked.

_She's trying to turn me against them_, thought Alanna furiously. _I bet she does the same to them, and they don't even realise she's doing it on purpose._

Myles had told her that court ladies fought subtly, unlike men. Men just attacked each other, and then the one that was hurt the least won. Simple. It almost made her wish she could be just a normal knight. But when all was said and done, she was going to be a lady knight. It just made things that much more confusing. What was she supposed to do, attack people subtly?

Delia was smiling down at her, batting her eyelashes again. _Who cares if she has green eyes anyway? _Alanna thought, staring at them. _What's so special about green eyes? Green's the colour of…pondweed. Why do they all care that she has eyes like pondweed? Plenty of people have green eyes, it's not like they're unusual or interesting. But it's not like Jon ever writes any of his stupid poems about _interesting _eye colours like…purple. _

"Balls are so much fun," simpered Delia. "It's so wonderful to be able to dance all night long, and with so many handsome men."

_She doesn't dance, she _floats. Alanna's eyes rolled again. _What's the point in floating when you dance? That's not useful for anything. I bet _she _couldn't beat her own knight-master at fencing._

"Tell me, Alan, was it you who polished Prince Jonathan's sword so nicely yesterday? I saw it hanging on his wall, and it glinted so beautifully in the moonlight."

Alanna scowled. _She doesn't have to make it so obvious. I already _know _she was in his room last night, I could hear her through the wall! She probably knew that, too. _She was completely and utterly sick of Delia. Everywhere she went, all she heard about was Delia this and Delia that. All in all, it was just Too Much Delia. Before she'd even given herself a chance to talk herself out of it, she'd trodden on Delia's foot. Hard.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she said, eyes wide and innocent as Delia gasped and stopped dancing. "How clumsy of me."

It was a horrible, cruel, nasty thing to do, and of course Alanna regretted it immediately.

…but only because they were now surrounded by her so-called friends, all clamouring to carry Delia to a seat and inspect her sore foot. She rolled her eyes one more time, and slipped out of the ballroom. It's not like anyone would notice anyway.


	4. Justified

Prompt: Strange bedfellows

Numair had become used to seeing all sorts of animals climbing into his student's bedroll. He'd even learnt to put up with a few of them climbing in with him. But he maintained that emitting a loud, high-pitched shriek was still perfectly justified when he opened his eyes and saw her curled up against a _bear_.


	5. Power

Prompt: Addiction

He could feel the magic building up in his hands and spilling out around him. The air grew hotter and heavier, a weight pressing down on him. The pressure built, becoming stronger and stronger until finally he could hold it no longer, and he shouted the incantation. His rooms shook for a moment, and then dust flew out, blinding him. When his eyes cleared, the frog that had been sitting on his table was now a rat. Rats weren't particularly exciting, but the knowledge of what he had done was intoxicating. It felt incredible to know that he had so much power. Lord Thom of Trebond smiled to himself, and did it again.


	6. An Unexpected Twist

Prompt: Puzzles

He struggled against the strong arms that held him and the chains that bound his Gift. They'd reached the dungeons, and one guard unlocked a door. He was shoved in unceremoniously, and the barred door slammed shut and locked behind him.

"There must be a mistake!," he shouted. "I haven't done anything wrong!"

One of the guards slowed as they walked out. "I'm sorry, Master Draper. We're just following orders."

The main door closed and he was left alone in the darkness to wonder.


	7. Healing

Prompt: Haunting

"Alanna?" George tapped cautiously on the door.

"Go away!" Her voice was muffled, but it definitely didn't sound like it usually did.

"Alanna, it's George."

"Go away." Her voice definitely sounded less emphatic this time. George took this as a good sign, and went in.

She was dressed in her usual shirt and breeches but she was sitting on the floor, knees drawn up to her chin and her face buried in her arms. Even from the doorway, he could see her whole body shaking.

George refrained from asking stupid questions like 'What's wrong?' or 'What are ye doing?', and instead sat himself down beside her and put an arm around her shoulders.

Her sobs gradually lessened, and they sat in silence until she said "I'm so stupid, George."

"Nothing you've done is stupid, you're a hero."

"No…I keep on thinking they're still here. It feels like they still are, it doesn't feel like they're really gone forever. I'll think to myself 'Where's Faithful gone off to now?' or 'I'll go and see how Thom and Si-cham are going' or 'I'll do some of the Shang exercises Liam taught me', and then I remember that they're gone."

He suspected that she actually had been doing her morning exercises. "Things like that take time. It's only been a day."

"And look at it! Why does it have to be so sunny and bright and cheerful when I'm never going to see them again? Unless I die, and then there'll be people I miss here, and I'll be in the Black God's Realm with them and still crying like an idiot."

"Hush," he told her gently. "No more talk of ye dying before your time. Ye know as well as I that they'd all give ye a huge tellin' off when ye got there."

She gave a shaky laugh. "Thom would probably send me right back." She sat up and turned her tearstained face up to his. "George?"

He wiped a tear from her cheek with his thumb. "Mmm?"

"Do you still love me?"

"Lass, now's not the time to be worryin' about that sort of thing."

"I know," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "It's just…I feel like this big part of me is missing, and with them gone, I feel so alone."

"Darlin', of course I still love ye," he told her, his hazel eyes looking directly into her own violet ones. "That's never goin' t' change. And I'm goin' to prove it to ye."

"You're here, that's more than enough."

"Well lass, ye shouldn't even be out of bed after all the events of yesterday. Ye need t' rest. I'm goin' t' pick ye up, put ye in that bed myself, climb in with ye, and let ye soak my shirt until ye fall asleep. And don't even think of arguin', because I know you're Gift's drained, and you'll be so exhausted from the fightin' it'll be no trouble for me to get ye back where ye should be."

It was very small and very sheepish, but what she gave him was a smile nonetheless.

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An hour later, Thayet softly shut Alanna's door again, a faint smile on her face. "She's fine for now," she told the others in the hallway. "George got here first and she's fast asleep."


	8. A Welcome Distraction

Prompt: Healing

WARNING: Ridiculously minor Bloodhound spoilers.

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Clary winced and turned her head away as the needle entered her flesh. It was bad enough that the six-inch gash in her side was hurting, but having the needle stab little holes of pain into her body right beside it and the feeling of the needle and the thread dragging through her skin was enough to make her stomach churn. She hated getting stitches. Adding insult to injury, quite literally, they made a crude mockery of the embroidery she had sewn at home, each of her stitches perfectly placed to create a beautiful whole.

Deliberately diverting her attention, she looked across to the bed next to her, where Beka was sitting on the edge having a broken nose tended to. She'd been lucky, and Clary was thankful. There weren't many Pups that could do as well as their Beka in a fight. She realised that both Beka and Mattes were shooting her worried glances from their places in the healers' room. She was definitely not in the mood for an audience, not with pain shooting up her side and a good portion of her middle on display.

"Cooper, don't look so sarden distraught. I've still got both my feet planted firmly in the Mortal Realm," she barked, aware that the pain was making her snappish. Well, more snappish than usual anyway.

"Hush and hold still," said the healer.

Clary fixed her with one of her looks, the ones that she used often to great effect and had perfected on Cooper. The healer had already gone back to her work and didn't even notice, which only infuriated Clary more. She ground her teeth together.

Mattes chuckled and came ambling across the room to settle in the chair between their beds. He peered over her stomach to see what the healer was doing and then, catching her glare, gave her a broad grin and picked up her hand.

"Sarden sentimental barbarian," she muttered, but she was actually quite glad for the distraction. He knew it too, from the smug look on his face. She was grateful to have had such a good partner for such a long time…even if he had somehow managed to only end up with a few bruises and scratches from the fight. How was that fair? Still, they knew each other almost as well as they knew themselves.

She looked up at him and he smiled down at her, giving her hand a squeeze. What was a mot to do? It was either give in to a bit of sentimentality or have her bones crushed in that giant paw. One corner of her mouth curled upwards and she squeezed his hand tightly in return, glad for the subtle way of directing the pain elsewhere.

And before she knew it, the curst stitches were finished.


	9. Cougar

Written for the Peculiar Pairings Ficathon on Goldenlake.

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A hand snaking around her waist stirred her from her sleep. "Mmm, George."

"Are you going to call George Liam when you get home?"

"Don't be awful George, Liam's dead." Even as she said it in her half-asleep state, she realised that the voice hadn't been George's.

"Really?" said the voice. "Dead? I hadn't noticed."

She rolled over and came face to face with a pair of blue eyes. She knew those eyes. She'd woken up next to them, along with the famous jet-black hair that accompanied them, in Jonathan's bed for over two years of her life. Prince Liam of Conte definitely took after his father. A quick peek under the covers confirmed that neither of them wore a stitch of clothing…except for her pregnancy charm. At least she could be thankful for something.

"Oh, gods." She ran a hand over her face, fully awake now.

He laughed. "That's an improvement on the fluent swearing I've been greeted with these last three mornings. Perhaps in a week, I'll get woken with a kiss and a 'Good morning, Liam'." As if to emphasise his point, he planted a kiss on her collarbone and grinned at her. "Good morning, Alanna."

"No," she said. "No, no, no. You're supposed to be cute and little and mischevious, and call me Aunty Alanna. Can't you go and climb trees or dig up worms or something?"

He laughed again, a deep rumble in his chest. "I can definitely do mischevious still. And I can handle using Aunty Alanna if that's what floods you with desire." He waggled his eyebrows at her and she groaned.

"Tonight, I'm going to leave myself a note on the bed, saying 'Don't sleep with Liam again, he's an idiot.'" She noticed that both his hand and his gaze travelled boldly over her body. "You're exactly like your father," she complained.

"You say that like it's a bad thing."

"What makes you think it isn't?"

"What makes you pretend you don't want any of this? As I recall, you were even more enthusiastic than I was last night." She scowled at him, until his hand slid down lower. She gasped, her hips jerking involuntarily, and he laughed.

Her scowl reappeared. "It's not funny." His attention had shifted instead to the faded stretch marks on her body, his fingers softly running over them. "See?" she said. "Those are from when I was pregnant with my children. Do I have to remind you that you're the exact same age as Thom? You should be off romancing all the beautiful young court ladies."

"We're in the middle of nowhere," he pointed out. "There aren't any beautiful court ladies." His gaze roamed over her body again, and he flashed a cheeky grin at her. "You'll do."

She gave him a cuff around the head, and rolled over. "I'm going back to sleep."

He curled himself around her. "We fit together so nicely," he said, satisfied. "Actually, our situation is sort of fitting too. I mean, Father slept with you when you were his seventeen-year-old squire. Now, all these years later, you're sleeping with his son, who just so happens to be seventeen, and your squire."

"Liam?" She elbowed him. "Shut up."

He grinned to himself, knowing full well that he was winding her up and enjoying every moment of it. After all, he was just like his father, and could easily charm her with a grin and a sparkle in his Conte blue eyes. "But don't worry," he added. "I don't mind sharing Father's leftovers."

It happened too fast for him to even notice exactly what she'd done, but the next thing he knew, he was landing on the floor on the other side of the room.

"What's got you in such a grump?" he complained.

"It's morning," she mumbled. "I don't like mornings."

"Well," he said suggestively. "Maybe I can sweeten it up for you."

And he did.


	10. Better than the stars

Written for the Peculiar Pairings Ficathon on Goldenlake.

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"Anyone would think you weren't having fun."

She looked up at the voice and saw Roald standing in front of her, his Conte blue eyes sparkling. Her only answer was to roll her eyes. He knew full well that she hated balls.

"I'm sick of this too," he told her quietly, and she looked at him, surprised. Roald rarely complained about anything.

"Court ladies trying to sink their claws in?"

"You'd be doing me a favour if you danced with me," he answered. "Please, Aunt Buri? Then Mother will be satisfied that you've at least participated, and then we can both escape. Daine told me that Numair was going to show her a meteor shower tonight, she said I was welcome to join them. You'd be welcome too, of course."

She raised her eyebrows at him. "I think Daine and Numair would probably rather have some privacy."

"That's what she told me," he insisted. "Anyway, Kalasin was going to be meeting them too. She'd promised to take Lianne and Vania since they're too young to come to the ball."

"Lucky things," she muttered. She thought about it and decided it actually sounded pretty good. She sighed. "Alright," she said, and he took her arm and led her onto the dance floor.

She would never ever admit it, but she was quite glad she'd decided to wear a dress for once. She liked the way that it clung to her upper body, and the way that the skirts swished around her legs. It made her feel…pretty. Feminine. Which was both useless and impractical, but she couldn't help liking it all the same. Besides, in a dress she had been able to strap knife-sheaths to her shins and tuck one down her bodice. She knew that Larse would laugh himself sick if he could hear her thoughts right now. That, and offer to retrieve the knife down her bodice. Maybe she shouldn't have had that last glass of wine.

Roald smiled as he looked down at her. Only she could look so serious as she was whirling around on the dance floor. He couldn't help but wonder what she was thinking. He definitely couldn't help but be aware of his hand on her waist, and the curve of her hip below his hand. He blushed and forced his thoughts elsewhere as he thought about the _other _curve, the one above his hand on her waist.

Buri looked up at Roald, and realised he was watching her. "Sorry," she said with a grin. "I should've warned you that your old aunt wasn't as interesting to dance with as the court ladies you're used to."

_She's not _that _much older than me, _Roald realised. _Only about the same age gap as between Numair and Daine. _"This is much better," he answered. "I don't have to make polite conversation I don't care about, and you're not obviously trying to make yourself the next Queen of Tortall."

The music finished, and she began to drag him over to the door. "Come on, we can go now."

"Don't make it so obvious," he muttered. "People are going to think we're up to something."

She nearly stopped in her tracks as she realised he was right. No longer the boy she'd always known, he was a man now, and definitely old enough to be 'getting up to things'. Of course, he'd been like that for a while now. She'd just never really thought about it. After all, he was still Roald. She remembered his strong hand on her waist while they danced, the way she had to look up at him now, his deep voice, his broad shoulders, the way his eyes had sparkled at her. He was definitely old enough for the gossips to be claiming they were bedding each other. She shivered, although she wasn't cold.

"Are you cold?"

"No, just…adjusting to the outside temperature."

"Good," he said and grinned. "Because I know what you'd say if I offered you my cloak."

She snorted. "Don't be daft. I'm fine."

"See?" he asked triumphantly. "I told you so." He ran a hand through his black hair and looked around. "Any idea where they'd be watching the stars?"

"I thought you knew."

"I thought it would be somewhere obvious."

Buri rolled her eyes. "We'll have a look through the gardens."

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Half an hour later, they still hadn't had any success. They'd found Jasson putting soap into one of the fountains with his friends, and they'd found numerous pairs of lovers, including Liam with one of the court ladies, but they still hadn't found Daine and Numair. They were about to turn a corner when Buri heard a pair of voices.

"Hide," she hissed, and pulled Roald behind a tree.

"Why?" he whispered.

"If they'd seen us, they'd have started nagging at me about the Riders. They're always going on about how the women are a distraction to the men. I can't be bothered dealing with them now."

Roald was glad that she'd avoided one of those arguments. They tended to get…intense. He realised that right now, she _was_ distracting him. Unintentionally, of course. It was the infinite depths of her brown eyes, the way that her hair caught the moonlight. The way that she was holding him close to her, pressing herself against the tree, and him against her. He didn't remember how it got there, but the next thing he knew, his mouth was on hers.

His heart skipped a beat in horror, and he pulled away. "Aunt Buri," he managed. "I-I'm sorry, I don't know what came over me."

She looked up at him, her face impossible to read. "I don't think it's really appropriate for you to call me Aunt Buri right now."

"I'm sorry," he repeated. "I really am, I know I shouldn't have. You won't tell anyone, will you? Especially not Mother, please don't tell Mother."

Buri resisted the urge to laugh. She didn't think she'd ever heard him babbling like that before. "This is better than the stars," she remarked conversationally.

He stopped talking and stared at her.

"Didn't you like it?" she asked.

He looked away. "Yes," he admitted. "I'm sorry."

"Roald, I need you to do something."

"Anything," he replied. "Just please, please don't tell anyone."

She grinned at him. "Shut up, and do that again."


	11. Birds of a feather

Prompt: Two of a kind

Alanna and George were walking hand in hand along the clifftops outside Pirate's Swoop, enjoying an afternoon walk, when they halted.

"Who are they?" Alanna asked, pointing to two figures in the distance. It looked like they were both clutching blankets around themselves and talking to one another, although she couldn't tell if they were friendly or arguing.

"It's Numair with Daine," answered George, having used his Sight.

Alanna relaxed. "He did say he was going to take her out for some shapeshifting practice."

They watched together as teacher and student finished their conversation and stood side by side.

George chuckled. "They look like the children do when they're lining up to race against one another."

Just as he finished speaking, the two figures took off running towards the edge of the cliff. They both released their blankets on the very edge, letting them fall behind, and plummeted over the edge.

Both husband and wife could feel each other stiffen momentarily.

"It's alright, lass," said George. "They'll be shapeshifting."

"I know," she replied. "Still makes my stomach churn to see them go over though."

"Mine too."

"There they are," she said, and pointed again. They could see the distant shapes of two black hawks rising above the cliff tops again. It was definitely Numair and Daine, because none of the birds they'd ever seen behaved like that. They were rising and falling, swooping around in circles, and diving at each other – all in all looking like they were having a wonderful time.

"Doesn't it make you wish you could fly too?" asked Alanna.

"A little," he answered. "But Lionesses don't fly, so I'd rather stay on the ground with my Lioness." Standing behind her now, he wrapped his arms around her and pressed a kiss onto the top of her head.

She settled her arms on top of his. "They fit so well together though, don't you think?"

"Uh oh," he teased. "Not at your matchmaking again?"

"Again?"

"Thayet and Jon."

She tilted her head right back to look at him. "Your mother and Myles."

He laughed and kissed her. "Point taken, lass." He looked out towards the birds again. "Honestly, I can't ever imagine them willingly being apart."

Alanna nodded. "They're two of a kind."

She could feel the rumble of his laugh as her head rested against his chest. "They're birds of a feather," he said, and with a smile, she agreed.


	12. Brocade

Written for the Peculiar Pairings Ficathon on Goldenlake.

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"Gary, please!" Alanna ran through the hallways to catch up to him. "Please!" she said again, as she caught up to him.

He turned towards her, face still beet red, and opened his mouth to talk.

"Not out here," she hissed, and shoved him through the closest doorway. It led to a set of rooms that looked as though they hadn't been lived in for months, if not years. _Perfect for having an awkward and highly embarrassing discussion in_, she thought, and sent purple fire around the room to prevent anyone from listening to them.

"You'd better not be planning on 'persuading' me," he told her. "Especially when you haven't even bathed since you were…" he trailed off, looking nauseous.

"I wasn't planning anything of the sort," she said indignantly. "You're my friend, well, you were until ten minutes ago anyway. I suppose you hate me now. But it would be too weird, having sex with you."

He gave an interesting sort of strangled squawk. "And yet you were perfectly willing to-"

"I know," she interrupted. "Gary, please, please, _please_ don't tell anyone," she begged him. "Especially not Jon."

"Especially not Jon," he repeated. She nodded, her violet eyes hopeful. "You want me to NOT tell my cousin and oldest friend," he said slowly, "that you were sleeping with my _father _behind his back, and that I walked in on you both in the middle of it, with you wearing nothing but paint on your body in the colours of Naxen, and the Tortallan Prime Ministerial robe of state!"

"Yes," she said, feeling her skin burning with embarrassment. "I'd be _so _grateful if you could keep that to yourself."

"My mind is _never _going to be clean again," he complained. Alanna decided that now wasn't the time to point out that his mind hadn't been clean for years, and held her tongue. "Those are _my _colours too," he continued. "One day I'll be Duke of Naxen, how am I supposed to look at our family crest with pride? And Jon said once that he thought I'd be a good Prime Minister when he's King. I won't ever be able to wear the robe without thinking of THAT, no matter how many times it's been washed."

She scowled. "Don't blame me for all that, it was his idea! He wouldn't wear his dressing gown for me unless I agreed."

He stared at her, an amusing mix of bewilderment and apprehension on his face. "His dressing gown?"

She supposed he hadn't noticed it in his shock. "The red and gold brocade one," she said, and giggled despite herself.

Gary spluttered incoherently in horror for several moments. "He used to wear that while he read stories to me in bed!" he finally managed.

"Look Gary, just please don't tell anyone, alright?"

"You mean, I should keep quiet so that you can keep on doing it without having to worry about anything nasty like national scandals."

A thought occurred to Alanna, and she crossed her arms. "Fine, go ahead and tell everyone," she said. He looked at her suspiciously and she grinned at him triumphantly. "Nobody's going to believe you anyway."


	13. He'll feed anything

Prompt: Food

I'm thinking Beka's about 10 in this.

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Beka couldn't believe her luck. Right now, she was only a few feet away from the two best Dogs in all of Corus. They didn't know she was there, of course. She reminded herself to stay very, very quiet and still behind the curtain which hid her. Tough Dogs like Corporal Guardswoman Goodwin and Senior Guardsman Tunstall would not be happy at all if they found out they were being spied on. Even if all they were doing was having dinner with the Lord Provost.

She heard the clatter of a chair being pushed back. "Do either of you mind if I open a window?" That wasn't Lord Gershom's voice, it must be Senior Guardsman Tunstall. She drew herself back against the wall in horror as she heard the other two voices give their consent. The sound of footsteps drew closer and closer to the window right beside her, and she held her breath. She'd be a disgrace to Lord Gershom if she was discovered, and she didn't want to cause distress to her sick mother.

"It's a nice evening out there," the tall Dog remarked. "I can see most of Corus from here, too."

Relieved, she let her breath out again as she heard him moving back to the table. The woman laughed and murmured something, and Beka was sure that her danger was over. Cautiously, she peeked around the edge of the curtain, and saw them all enjoying their meal again. Something caught her eye, and she grinned. There was a bread roll sitting on the windowsill that hadn't been there before. It had been ripped open and stuffed with some meat and a couple of the little sweets she'd seen sitting on the table before they had arrived.

_Maybe,_ she thought as she bit into it, _Dogs aren't so scary all the time after all._


	14. Three's a crowd

Written for the Peculiar Pairings Ficathon on Goldenlake.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Clary opened her eyes, winced, and quickly shut them again. "Gods, my head."

"It couldn't possibly be worse than mine," said a voice that most definitely wasn't Tom's. She swore.

"Clary?" asked the voice, sounding horrified. She felt his body rolling over and she forced her eyes open again, to find herself face to face with her watch partner.

"Mattes? Oh, gods." There wasn't any point in checking hopefully to see if she was wearing anything; she could feel her bare body pressed up against his. She shoved him away and went to move away herself when she realised she couldn't. She saw Mattes looking over her shoulder, a stunned look of shock on his face. Apparently the warmth on her back wasn't just from the bed. She rolled over and saw Lord Gershom blinking his eyes sleepily.

He rubbed his eyes and stared back at her, blinking until his eyes focused. "Clary? Mattes?"

They all swore in unison.

Clary sat up to get away from them. "What are we doing here?" she asked, holding her aching head in her hands. "I don't remember anything."

"I invited you both for dinner," said the Lord Provost. "That much I remember."

"And then we all enjoyed your alcohol a little too much," added Mattes.

Clary snorted. That had to be the biggest understatement she'd heard in months. She supposed it wasn't surprising that she had such a headache, considering the amount of empty bottles scattered around the room. She turned as she felt a hand snaking around her collarbone. Mattes caught hold of the chain with her pregnancy charm on it, looked at it to double check, and then heaved a sigh of relief.

"Gods, we didn't," she said, still hoping she could convince herself that they'd simply decided to take their clothes off and go to sleep. Even as she said it, flashes of memory came flooding back: skin on skin. Hands, fingers, lips, tongues, and…other parts. Everywhere. And pleasure, lots and lots of pleasure.

How was she supposed to ever look at either of them again without picturing _those _images in her mind?

She let out a fluent stream of curses, adding to them as she realised they were both looking at the exposed parts of her body with appreciative interest. "You coves are all the same," she grumbled. It wasn't like she hadn't been in the public baths with men before, Mattes had seen her bare plenty of times. But it was definitely different now.

She gave Mattes a strong shove, forcing him to get out of bed. She scrambled out after him. "You can help me find my sarden clothes. I have to get home now, Tom's going to be worried."

"He knows you can look out for yourself. If you were injured or killed on the way home, he would've heard by now."

"If I'd been drinking, it would've been easier for someone to snatch me off the street."

"I suppose that's plausible," said Lord Gershom, stretching as he climbed out of bed too. He tossed Clary her breastband. "Is he going to be angry?"

"Tom?" Mattes laughed. "I don't think he could be angry if he tried."

Clary's mouth twitched in a tiny smile. "I don't think my Tomlan's ever said an angry word in his life," she said as she began to pull her clothes on. "He's strong enough to send me flying with one blow if he wanted to, but the thought wouldn't even occur to him. The worst he might do is tell me he's disappointed or ashamed of me. He'll probably just be relieved I'm unharmed and then sit there laughing at me while I try to apologise. Then he'll remind me that my body is my own to do what I want with, and that if I regret something I've done, then it's my own fault and none of his business."

"Why can I never meet women like that?" complained Mattes. "Does he have any sisters?"

"They're all married." Clary gave him a solid poke in the chest for emphasis. "Don't even think about it." She looked in the mirror and swore again. "That'll have to do for now, I'll bathe when I get home." She fixed both men with a glare. She shouldn't really be glaring at a nobleman like that, but after their activities last night, there was no sense in being perfectly proper right now. "I had better not hear this mentioned ever again."

Both men hastily agreed. It would be embarrassing enough for people to find out what had happened, but it would also affect their reputations as members of the Provost's Guard.

"Good," she said satisfied. She set off for home as quickly as possible, deliberately pushing all thoughts about how awkward watch would be that evening right out of her mind.


	15. Festive Spirit

Prompt: Winter

Evin loved winter. The Midwinter festival was always great fun and offered plenty of merriment, but the fact that it was in winter somehow made it that much better. _Perhaps it's all the snow _, he thought. _Snow just offers so many…oppurtunities. _

The King's Own certainly made a nice sight as they walked from the palace down to their stables; the blue of their uniforms looking bold in contrast with the white blanket of the snow.

_We'll see what we can do about that_. He grinned. "Now."

The Riders rose up from behind the snow banks, pelting the King's Own with their ready-made snowballs, and pandemonium ensued.

Evin loved winter.


	16. Substitute

Prompt: Luck

Mattes walked with Clary right to the door of her house after watch. He didn't do it very often, but he'd been talking pleasantly the entire way so she didn't think anything of it. Maybe he just felt like having some company for a while longer.

"Well, I hope you have a nice Midwinter. Make the most of the longest night." He winked at her. "I'll see you for watch the day after next."

Clary rolled her eyes and nodded as she fumbled for the key in her pocket. The next thing she knew, Mattes had placed a hand gently on each side of her face and kissed her. He wisely stepped backwards out of her reach while she stared at him in shock.

"I'm married, you looby."

"You know I'm between women at the moment," he told her, a wicked grin on his face. "You don't want me to have an unlucky Midwinter, do you?"

She could tell from the look on his face that he hadn't meant anything by the kiss, and wouldn't have been particularly bothered if he hadn't had a kiss for Midwinter luck. He'd done it just for the sake of it…and to wind her up, she supposed. "You barbarians have no manners," she grumbled.

"Of course not." He grinned at her. "That's why we're barbarians." He headed off down the path, whistling softly, and gave her a wave as he turned out of the gate.

"Looby," muttered Clary as she unlocked the door. Still, there was a part of her that was wondering if Mattes would count for some extra Midwinter luck…and a part that now agreed with Mya that Matthias Tunstall was _very_ good at kissing.


End file.
